You Came and Found Where I Hid
by QueenBtchoftheUniverse
Summary: It is one month after the burning of the Opera Populaire. Christine is happy with Raoul, but she needs something more. She can't get the Phantom out of her mind. She goes to visit him one last time to put him in her past for good... or is it?
1. Chapter 1

"You came and found where I hid. Don't you deny that you did, that long ago night." —The Phantom, _Love Never Dies_

1

Christine picked her way carefully through the catacombs of the opera house. Through a major force of will she did not scream at the rats that had made their homes in this place. They were not the most dangerous things down here.

She had left her fiancée sleeping in their hotel room. This was wrong and she knew it. How depraved was she to lust after a man who was not her betrothed, who had also stolen her music and her thoughts. Not her heart though. That would forever and always belong to Raoul.

When the Opera Populaire had burned down a month ago, she and Raoul didn't have their own manor yet. Since that was where they wanted their wedding, they stayed at a hotel until it was finished being constructed. Their only other option had been to stay at his parent's established home. And that had been completely out of the question.

People talked, as they were bound to do. Old news for the rumor mill was that she and Raoul weren't as innocent as they seemed to be. She had not known whether to laugh or scowl at Meg when she had told her this. Of course it was not Meg's fault, but was she to feel proud that nearly everyone thought her an experienced woman when in fact she was not?

Raoul had cured her of this the first night they were together. She was still burning from the songs the Phantom had ensnared her with; otherwise she would have protested for reasons of tradition and propriety. Raoul had been very courteous, asking her constantly what she was feeling, whether pain or pleasure. He even thanked her when it was over. Her need had been slaked, but only by a fraction. No matter how many times they coupled in the past month, it still wasn't enough. She needed passion, heat. She was going to settle this tonight once and for all. It would be over before it had begun and she would return to Raoul as a dutiful wife, the past forgotten.

This was the only place she knew of to search for him. What if he wasn't here? Oh God, she should just turn back now and bear the pain. Keep silent for the rest of her life. But then the music started. It was haunting, drifting up from deep below. She knew the song; it was Music of the Night. The sweet notes twirled around her, pulling her with them to their master. There were no words with the accompaniment, but she could hear them being played out in her mind. She was getting closer, the music was becoming clearer.

_Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender. _

The aching was back inside of her. It was insistent and throbbing, never letting her forget its presence. She could imagine a pale, tremulous thing in her hands. It would be as soft as candlelight, yet firm enough to…

Dear God above, no! She never had thoughts like this about Raoul, and she was supposed to marry him! She prayed for forgiveness, she prayed for His help to clean her mind and purify her soul. She could not do this. It was too…wrong. Yes, not right enough. Not good enough.

She fully intended to turn back and think no more of the Phantom, but then the song changed. It turned dark and seductive, Past the Point of No Return. The notes turned to fingers to knead at her body. They sensitized every area until she was aflame with sensation. She was dying; there was no question about it. And there was only one person to give her breath, give her life.

She turned the corner and there it was, just as she had left it. Or…no. Not as she had left it. It was vaguely similar but more disheveled. Candelabras lay tipped, mirrors smashed, broken pieces on the floor. Statues toppled, music sheets strewn. It looked like an ungodly refuse pile. Except the organ. On its seat was its master. He had his back to her and the music was still playing; he hadn't noticed her yet. What would he do when he saw her? Her heart leapt in her throat to think of it.

The other thing that posed a problem was the lake. The gondola that had first carried her over was nowhere in sight. She could wade through the water; it went only up to her waist in the deepest part. If she crossed in her dress then it would still be wet when she came home, and it would give her a chill. She removed her dress and underpinnings, setting them in a dry spot for when she returned. She wanted to carry her cloak with her in order to provide some measure of covering, and to help keep her warm. It was impossibly cold in the cavern, the water was even worse. She held her breath as she waded through it, clutching her belonging to her chest. She moved silently, imagining herself to be a fabled mer-woman.

The music intensified. Its loud decibels covered the noise of water dripping from her legs as she rose from the lake and swirled the cape back onto herself.

_Abandon thought and let the dream descend._

Her movements were thick and buttery, almost as if they were not her own. It was like she had locked some part of her rational mind away and let the one controlled by instincts emerge. She moved behind the Phantom and placed her hands on his shoulders, willing whatever happened next to fate.

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn._


	2. Chapter 2

"Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both haunted and adored." —Christine, _the Phantom of the Opera_

2

Erik closed his eyes, and Christine was there behind him. _Yes. _She alone could make his song take flight, but she was also the only one who held captive his heart. Sometimes, when he played her music as hard as he could, with as much passion as he felt, then he could imagine her beside him. That was the purpose of his playing tonight; he needed the comfort of her ghost.

_Say you'll want me with you here, beside you._

He brought his hands up to hers and wasn't surprised by how cold they felt.

"Sit with me, my Christine, I will warm you."

He turned to face her and was shocked anew by the corruption of his soul. Only a mind as black as his could imagine an angel as innocent as she wearing only a black cape. It parted down the middle, teasing him with the hint of her full breasts, the captivating abdomen over which they hung, and lower still…No! He would not defile her memory that way. Not guileless Christine. She was pure and good and whole. He would not sink her into his darkness with him. He turned away, ashamed of his own sin.

"Is there something amiss, do I not please you?" Her voice wavered, unsure.

Of course she would be sad! His mind knew no limits of tempting him into the pit of hell. It was where he was doomed since the moment his life began.

He huffed his displeasure. "You please me too much my dear, therein lays the problem. As much as I desire your company, I cannot besmirch your glorious beauty with my cravenness."

"We have been over this before." She turned him to face her again. He kept his eyes resolutely at her face. "You said yourself that looks can be deceiving. What if my desire is for your cravenness?" She let the question hang there, as expectant as her lips which were parted and moist. She climbed over his lap and the bench, sitting so they were faced eye to eye.

Damn him, damn him, damn him! His mind was a haze with her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him against her body. His imaginations of Christine had never been this insistent before. Perhaps if he gave in to her then she would be satisfied. Nobody would know, especially not the real Christine herself. If he couldn't have her, then he would have the one he had imagined.

He chuckled. "Very well. If I am doomed to hell I might as well doom myself thoroughly."

He met her lips with his and was reminded of their first —and only —kiss. Where that one had been only regret on her part and longing on his, this one was raging fires and dark corners. Her arms around him felt so real. Her hair in his fingers felt so real. His tongue invading her mouth felt all too real.

"You feel nothing less than genuine, Christine."

He was nuzzling her neck now, daring to go lower than he had ever gone before.

"Why wouldn't I be genuine?" Her words were breathy. He smirked, knowing that it was him who did that to her.

Wouldn't an illusion know what she was, that she was not real? "You aren't the real Christine. You exist only in my mind."

She looked at him, all evidence of languor gone. "That's strange. Last time I checked I wasn't a figment. Would a specter be able to do this?" She touched him. Right on the place that was most straining for her attention, begging to be touched.

He could barely expel a grunt. Her fingers were light, almost shy but persistent. If she didn't stop that soon surely he would go out of his mind. They had the audacity to travel underneath his clothing, going further south until she was grasping him. Her stimulation was insanity. No memory would ever go this far with him before. He would open his eyes only to find his own hands holding himself, stroking to oblivion. When he opened his eyes this time, he saw Christine. Lovely Christine with an inferno blazing in her eyes and using her hands to ride him. He had no control of anything, he wasn't even sure of his own name. All he could do was wait until she had released him when he spent himself in his pants. He leaned his head on her shoulder for support, both of them breathing hard.

All he could think was that this was her _actual_ shoulder. He couldn't be supported like this by himself.

_Lead me, save me from my solitude._

Why had she come back? Was it truly to stay this time?

"…Christine"

Then, another thought.

"You shouldn't have done that. Now there isn't anything for you."

"You're right on the second account, but not the first." She smiled at him. Coquettish. "I can't stay and wait, but I did enjoy myself." She lowered her eyes, not entirely as sure now. "Would it be alright if I…if I came back?"

Good lord, would it be alright? It was too perfect to be true.

"You know where to find me. But, why can't you stay?"

Her face was unreadable; she was lost in her own world it looked like. "For reasons that are too complicated to explain just now. Still, may I?"

Now it was his turn to smile. "You came here tonight without an invitation; I can't imagine why you would need one for later."

"Always the mysterious Phantom." She got off of him with a swish of her cape. "Maybe I will come, maybe I won't. No need to get up, I can show myself out." He watched her remove the cloak and hold it while she stepped into the lake. The view of her posterior was enough to send blood roaring through his body. It almost made him want to take her and claim her right here and now, to wipe that smug grin off of her face. Almost. Now was not the right time. When or if she came back would be the time. He would just have to wait. He was not very good at waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

"Still I ache down to the core. My broken soul can't be alive or whole." —The Phantom, _Love Never Dies_

3

Her euphoria lasted until she was halfway to the hotel.

How could she have been so stupid? What she had done was unthinkable. Deplorable. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

She didn't even need an authority figure to visit shame and judgment on herself. She was God, father and mother all in one. She couldn't remember enough of her mother to imagine what her thoughts would have been. But what about her father? What would he have said? He was the one who started the whole notion of an Angel of Music in the first place. He would want…he would want…her happiness. Ultimately that was profound, but it got her nowhere.

Had she been happy acting like a wanton whore for the Phantom? Never mind, she shouldn't answer that. It just occurred to her, what if Raoul woke to find her gone? What would she say to him? Would he believe her breezy attempt at a lie if she said she just went for a walk because she couldn't sleep? Of course he would, because he was Raoul and he loved her. She should just forget about the Phantom and the asinine feeling of closure that she needed. If it really was that. The man had tortured her lover in front of her then bade her choose his life or her freedom. The fact that she had serviced a twisted person like that should make her sick…but it didn't.

Even though she had her cover story in place, finding Raoul asleep made her sigh in relief. Life was comfortable, normal, and even enjoyable with Raoul. She should just leave it at that.

…

Waiting was futile! Goddamn Christine, Goddamn her to hell! No, not Christine. He could never damn Christine. Fine then, he would just have to be satisfied with damning himself. It was two weeks since Christine visited last. _Two weeks_. He spent the time playing music mostly, in the hope that she could somehow hear it and would come as she had before. He even attempted to clean the rat hole in which he lived. He was going out of his mind just sitting around. Was that her new occupation now? Was it her life's mission to push him toward insanity? He wouldn't be able to condemn her if it was. Still, that didn't mean he had to like it.

Indeed it didn't. He was going to find her, whatever it took. And once he found her, he would visit upon her the madness of his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

"He'll always be there singing songs in my head." —Christine, _the Phantom of the Opera_

4

"Raoul, can I…"

"Yes, my darling?"

Christine blushed and looked down, not sure how to broach the subject with him. Morning had dawned but they still lounged in bed, enjoying the quiet. Instead of speaking, she reached under the covers and the nightshirt he liked to wear. He got the point soon enough.

"You know I can't refuse you Christine, but I have to leave soon." As part of the upper class it was Raoul's job to maintain social connections. Which meant a lot of visiting and a lot of prattling. It didn't interest her very much, even though she was invited to join him. Most often she would stay in their room or go to the market. She liked life and diversity, not the dull platitudes of the aristocracy. He liked to be punctual for his appointments, and when it came to lovemaking with Christine he chose to take his time. Sometimes it maddened Christine beyond belief.

"No, not like that. I meant…just with my hands." She looked up under her lashes at him, trying for what she hoped was a smoldering look. In truth, he wasn't the one she most wanted to be doing this with. But it was something she enjoyed doing, and the person of choice occupation would always be unavailable to her.

"I don't know, that's not exactly…" He trailed off, and she wasn't sure if he was trying to decide between "Moral" or "Productive".

"It's what I want. And I will be quick, I promise."

He met her eyes for a long while then blew out his breath in a puff.

"If that's what you want."

He rolled onto his back, and she sat atop his legs. She began to lift up her nightgown but he stopped her.

"Leave it on, or I might have to be late for my appointments." His smile was genuine, but it served only to comfort her a little.

"Very well." Her smile was small. If she could not undress herself then she was not going to undress him. She leaned forward and started by exploring him. The underside of his soft sacs of fur, the nub at the base of his tip. It wasn't long until he was aroused, but still the mask of doubt was in place. She worked him slowly, and then increased her pace. His doubt slid off and was replaced by the buzz of pleasure. She rubbed him harder, too caught up in her memories of the Phantom to notice anything. He had looked at her with wonder, but he had burned with passion. Burned for her. Her attention caught when Raoul squeaked. She stopped what she was doing.

"What is it, have I hurt you?"

"No, of course not darling." His grimace told her otherwise. "Why don't we try this again some other time, I have to prepare now."

She watched him dress in his finery, carefully tucking the clothing to make it look as flat as possible.

He left without saying goodbye.

She flopped back onto the bed. The entire day was hers to do what she wished; Raoul wouldn't be back until late. He had these meetings once a week, but when he wasn't making appointments he would be checking on his investments, overseeing the construction of their home, etc. None of it was very exciting.

Rising from the bed, she went to go and clothe herself. Raoul had bought for her elaborate dresses made with much too much fabric in her opinion. They were made to befit a lady of her soon to be station. As the vicomte's wife, she would need to dress accordingly. Those big dresses were harder to maneuver in; she preferred simpler ones. It was a good thing she had a few that she liked. Raoul's own style was simple but elegant, unlike the Phantom's. That man seemed to surround himself in opulence, pulling it to him like moths to his flame.

She needed to stop thinking about him. A distraction would do her good. Something physical to release her frustration like…dancing! She loved dancing, just as much as she loved to sing. The latter was too dangerous for now, if she started to sing no doubt songs of the Phantom would creep to her mind.

Back to the matter at hand. The pale yellow one would do well; it swirled with her momentum and was jovial enough for the occasion. Not boring at all.

…

Dancing was a fantastic idea! She should have thought of this sooner. The music was quick; it inspired fast movements and some bumbling on the part of the men. Not her though, she just let herself be swept away by the sounds, giving her body freely to the will of the beat. Many noticed.

"May I get you a drink, mademoiselle?" He must have been new here; few didn't know of her engagement to the Comte de Chagny. Of course, an unescorted woman would bring the attention of bachelors.

"No thank you sir, I have all of the refreshment I need." The company of men was not what she desired at the moment; Raoul's rejection still stung her. Most of the women were in on the gossip circle; their disdain was palpable. Perhaps it was time for her to take her leave. A few of the gentlemen offered to escort her home, but she told them that wouldn't be necessary. She tried to be as gracious as possible, but she had to get out of there. Small talk was not her forte.

She preferred walking anyway. The night breeze was soothing on her heated skin. She hated claustrophobic bumpy carriages. Trains were fine. They were powerful and fast. Thinking of trains made her think of traveling, which was something she wanted to do, but Raoul didn't. "Why go anywhere else when we have everything here?" If he was at the inn when she got there then maybe they could revisit the subject. Distance would also be helpful for her affliction.

But when she let herself in the room was empty. Seeing their living space dark and…unlived in made her feel empty. Lonely. That wasn't something she experienced often. Even when her father was gone, she still had her Angel of Music. She couldn't bear it; she wept. Here where there weren't prying eyes or overeager bucks, she could let the tears loose and feel pity for herself. No one was going to do it for her.

She missed him. He wouldn't tell her later, he would make time for her. She understood that Raoul was a busy man, but even in his leisure moments he was content to just read a book in the same room as her. He was kind and supportive, but there was no connection. No Spark.

She wanted the Phantom.

"Don't cry," a gloved hand reached to trap a drop on her chin. "angels should know no misery."


	5. Chapter 5

"My God. What have I done? I could lose her forever. My Christine!" —Raoul, _Love Never Dies_

5

He almost hadn't found her. Not a lot of people wanted to give information to a shadowed stranger. With a little bit of monetary persuasion though, he had found the de Chagny manor, only it was under construction. The trail went cold from there. He had taken to wandering the streets and observing. He would see lovely young ladies on the arms of their gentleman callers, but when they turned their face was not hers. How he missed that face.

The dance hall with its bright lights and noise drew him to it. He waited in a corner, waving away the women that were drawn to his allure. His secrets were not the ones they wanted.

After waiting for hours, he was ready to move on. And then, a flash of yellow. She was radiant, spinning like a ballerina. And she looked…happy. A maelstrom of emotions rushed through him. Satisfaction, sadness, and then anger. He enjoyed seeing her contentment, but why couldn't he have that as well? How dare she come to tease him then leave him to his misery? He had followed her as she left. Concealing his presence was what he knew best.

She entered a building and he followed. It could have been a flower shop for all he noticed. His thoughts were only of Christine and how to lure her away where they could be alone. He would yell at her, or frighten her. Possibly kiss her until she was senseless. In that order. It astonished him to find her crying. That was not synonymous with the cheerful face he had seen earlier. The only logical thing to do was to ease her sadness, to erase the tracks her sorrow made.

Then his lips found hers. He pulled her to him underneath the wide brim of his hat. There was no greeting between them, because there would never be a goodbye. Not if he could help it. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he was wondering why Christine had been crying. And why she hadn't been to see him in two weeks. She wasn't a false person.

The here and now was that he had to fix it.

He nudged her backward until the back of her knees hit something wide and flat. A bed maybe?

She froze.

Suddenly he understood. Raoul. She was still involved with him, and this was his territory. The idea of him mounting Christine like a hormone induced dog made him growl. Then a thought occurred. He could leave his own mark; somewhere that whenever Christine visited it, it would remind her of him.

He looked around to assess the possibilities. Huh. Not a flower shop. The bathroom had potential but…

"Erik" He didn't like that name, but coming from her it sounded like a prayer. Her voice was soft but it still sent a thrill through him. Her face told him what she needed.

He pushed her up against the armoire, not roughly but like dancing. He knew she would follow where he led without question. Her kiss scorched through him, burning him with her intensity. Her tongue thrusts in his mouth sent shivers though him. Instead of handing him the reins she used her entrapment to her advantage. He couldn't say that he didn't enjoy it.

Her thigh inched its way up his leg. He lifted her skirt to help its progress, using his arms to support her leverage over him. Her position gave him the access to slide his tongue over her collar bones. She made noises like a songbird, cooing her delight. He pressed his pelvis into hers, almost setting her visibly alight. She was silent. He tried shifting his hips to see if that would please her better. A lone groan issued from her throat.

"Just do it now." He would have hung himself had that been her command.

"Christine?" It was Raoul, his steps sounding down the hallway.

Rage filled him. This time he would finish what he had begun with that boy.

She touched his face, grounding him. "Erik, run."

The door handle turned.


	6. Chapter 6

"He was bound to love you, when he first heard you sing." —the Phantom, _the Phantom of the Opera_

6

The appointment had been a long one. Raoul was glad to be on his way home to Christine. _Home_. The word had a certain ring to it. It felt right.

He heard sounds in the room as he neared the door. Did Christine have company? He heard her moaning. "Christine?" Fearing the worst, he quickened his step and entered their room to find his betrothed using the furniture for support. Her eyes were wide and her knees looked likely to give out from under her. He rushed to the window and looked out. On the street below was a masked figure. It met his gaze with a challenge.

Raoul went flying through the building.

"Get the guards! Call the police!"

Out on the street the mask was nowhere to be seen. "Phantom!" A few late night revelers guffawed and invited him to join them. He ignored them. A gleam of alabaster caught his eye, but then it was gone.

When the authorities he had invoked minutes ago arrived he directed them in the direction he thought the Phantom had gone. With nothing else for him to do, he went to go find Christine.

He found her pacing in front of the window. She looked up as he approached. "Have they found him?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, though it shouldn't be long. The entire city is alerted; they won't let him get off lightly for destroying the Opera."

She paled and fell into a nearby chair. He knelt in front of her and took her hands. When it came, her voice was small.

"Will they harm him?"

Could she still care for that monster after all he had put them through? The answer was in her eyes. He could remind her of every horrible thing that ever happened to her because of that man, but it would be of no use. She remembered, yet she still feared for his safety. Would she still be concerned if the man had recently scared her? That was what he had assumed happened, but looking closely at his lover he saw that her lips were swollen. A spot of rogue on her cheek did not wipe away with his thumb. His Christine might have a quiet bravery, but she would not put up the pretense of caring for a person that had forced her into something she didn't want to do. She loved the Phantom.

She was still expectant, waiting for his answer. He gave it hesitantly.

"Murder is not a crime one can repent of. He will be hanged; the public will demand it."

Her eyes flew wide. One tear escaped; it broke the dam for a flood to follow. Her reaction proved his thoughts. He hugged her to him fiercely but she pushed away.

"_Don't touch me!"_

She slammed the door to their bedroom shut.

He sighed. That was where he kept his night clothes. It looked like the sitting room couch would serve as his bed tonight. He got down on his knees for his nightly prayer and asked God to help the policemen catch the Phantom but also to give Christine happiness. He wasn't sure how both could happen simultaneously, but if anyone could figure it out He could.


	7. Chapter 7

"Say you love me and my life is over." —Raoul, _the Phantom of the Opera_

7

Christine had a lot of time to think as she lay in bed that night. She watched the sun rise and brighten, signaling the beginning of a new day. Without darkness the Phantom wouldn't be able to hide. How could she have been so thoughtless? Because she couldn't control the illicit longings of her body the Phantom was going to die. A man she had grown to care for.

Raoul knocked and entered. He gathered his clothing and left without meeting her eye. It may have been her fault, but Raoul was to blame for calling the authorities. If he hadn't done that then Erik would be safe right now.

She almost didn't want to eat breakfast in his presence, but then stopped herself. She was not going to let him cow her in her own space. They shared it, so they would be sharing meals together no matter how much he disgusted her. She took a deep breath and gathered herself, heading out to the dining room. Raoul was already seated; he looked up at her in surprise when she neared. From her frown though he quickly looked back down at his plate. The morning paper was on the table; Raoul liked to read it as he ate. She watched him glance at it then pale. He crumpled it in his fist and brought it to his lap.

"What is it?" She wanted to know what he had seen that made him behave so oddly.

"Nothing" From his pallor she knew that it was not nothing. She was up and around to his chair before he could say a word more, reaching for what he held. He was standing as well, and threw the paper from her reach. Not before she glimpsed the front page headline.

**Opera Ghost Apprehended, the People Demand Blood**

"You killed him." It surprised her how calm she was despite the emotions flaring through her.

"Christine, don't."

"He's going to die because of you." They were an undertow, flowing beneath her skin like lava.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"He's going to _die_ because. Of. You!" The rope holding her emotions at bay frayed and snapped. She pounded on his chest, knocking him backward.

"_Bastard!"_ She screamed at him. He was yelling at her but she couldn't hear him over her own voice.

He tripped but righted himself and held her arms away from him. She went wild, thrashing under his grip, trying her damndest to be free.

"Tell me what to do, then." He lost composure enough to raise his voice at her. "What would you have from me?"

She stilled, thinking of what she wanted from him. What did she want? There was nothing, no answer.

"Christine, I love you." He had loosened his grip on her, thinking she didn't need to be retained anymore. He was wrong.

She slapped him across the face. Those words, in that order, had been spoken to her by another. It felt wrong now to hear them coming from Raoul.

"Don't you speak to me of love."

"Very well then." His face had a reddening handprint that was just her size on it. His mouth was a hard pressed line. He left, but he didn't slam the door. Somehow that irked her beyond belief so she tossed a water glass at the wall in order to feel something.

She had to think and review her options. Who did she know that she could stay with? There was Meg and Madame Giry, but they were in London. After the Opera closed they were scouted as well as the entire cast. She had been offered a position as well but declined in order to stay with Raoul. Damn her stupidity. The only other people she knew were Raoul's parents, and yet she couldn't stay with them. That was just another way of connecting her to the man.

It seemed…that there were no options. Save one.

Erik's body would be lifeless by tomorrow morning. She knew that there was no way they would provide him with a chance to escape. Living would prove pointless without him. What would she do if not marry his murderer? She would spend the rest of her days singing his songs and wishing that some sort of alchemy born of the pain tearing at her heart would rebirth him. But she couldn't, because that would never happen. He would die, and she would be alone.

As much as she hated to, she would write Raoul a note. That way he would know that she had chosen this, that it had been no one's fault but hers. He might even possibly feel guilty about it, and that made her feel better. She would leave at dawn tomorrow.

That way she could die with Erik, and they would finally know peace together.


	8. Chapter 8

"Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live?" —Christine, _the Phantom of the Opera_

8

It was a close call. Erik barely made it out by the skin on his neck (quite literally), but those fools would be chasing their tails for years to come. Now he was going to finish Christine's whelp of a fiancée and finally wipe his hands of the matter. As for the woman herself…they were going to complete what they had started.

Light was just beginning to crest over the mountaintops. The two should be sound asleep. He entered their room and crept to the bedroom, loomed over the bed and…nothing. He looked and patted but there were no bodies to be found. The rest of the apartment gave him no hint as to where they would be, except for the armoire. On it was attached a piece of paper. He took it and fell to his knees. _No._

The paper fluttered from his hands. He was gone before it could touch the ground.

_Raoul~_

_If you come back to find me gone, don't bother to look for me. I've gone to take in the river today. Hopefully I will meet my Angel there._

_~C_

…

The water of the Seine was cold, most likely below freezing. _God give me courage to show you you are not alone_. She plunged her head underwater, preferring to get it over with quickly. The cold stung on her exposed skin. Even leaving her clothes on did not provide extra warmth. So be it. This was the path she had chosen. _Dear Lord, forgive me for taking my life. I understand that I have sinned, only permit me to be with my love in the afterlife._

Soon enough she was numb and couldn't feel any of her extremities. She was almost warm from the complete lack of feeling. Her eyes closed; her death would be soon in coming. Her body bucked in protest of its lack of air; it wanted to breathe so she let it. Icy needles rushed in and stung her throat. She tried coughing them out but it didn't work. The world was fading; and soon enough she would be at peace again.

She was floating; way above pain or feeling or sorrow.

_Christine, come back to me._

_Christine, forgive me._

_Christine, that's all I ask of you._

_Christine…I love you._

Why was there weeping? That wasn't right; angels did not weep in heaven. She could hear him, she could hear his voice, but where was he? _Angel! Angel, where are you? _It was like a dream where words wanted to come out but they announced themselves only in her mind. She would have to try harder.

"A—ang…" Why was speaking so painful? It felt as if she had swallowed rocks. Still, the world was dark. If she could only open her eyes, then she would be able to look for him. It took a tremendous amount of effort, but finally she could see through the small slits her lids had accomplished. _Is everything after death so difficult?_

"Christine?" Oh it was good to hear his voice again.

The color she opened her eyes to was almost the same as what it was behind her lids. There was a faint light in the distance, a cave maybe? Heaven couldn't possibly be this dark, but that didn't matter so much to her anymore. As long as she was with Eric then she was where she belonged. She tried to say his name but it only came out as a grumble, which reduced to a coughing fit.

"Damn you, woman." He cursed her even as he pulled her closer to him. She hadn't realized that she was shaking. "Damn your childish stupidity, your blind emotions, your thoughtlessness, your…" He continued cursing her, but she found her attention wandering. It was hard to pay attention to much else when she was within the warm circle of his arms.

"You are no better than a spoiled child, trying to kill yourself like that." She hadn't been listening until that last sentence. Trying? So she wasn't dead after all. And neither was he.

"How?" Her voice was tiny, but she could manage that single word.

She could feel him stroking her hair in the dark. "It is of no matter. What matters is now and that you're safe…safe with me." He said the last part quietly.

She knew that was true. She trusted him, heart body and soul. Together, nothing would be impossible for them.

…

Note: I'm sorry that the end of this story took so long to write, I guess I'm just bad at goodbyes. I know I must have frustrated some of you. But here it is: The End! And just to make you feel good, the epilogue is already up and running. I remain forever your faithful servant.


	9. Epilogue

...

"Eric!" Christine was running down the passageway, eager to tell her lover the news. He melted from the shadows and met her before she even reached the underground lake.

"What is it? What's wrong? Have you been hurt?" He caught her about the waist and pulled her closer to examine her. She laughed and swatted at his hands.

"No, no! It's just so exciting; Raoul's petition for your pardon was granted! We can live here forever now, undisturbed." Even though she felt him stiffen at Raoul's name, she saw a hint of grudging gratitude in his deep eyes.

"He must love you still to indulge your every whim." She detected a faint trace of venom in his voice.

"Raoul may love me, and I do still care for him, but you are the only one in my heart."

He nodded once, and then walked back the way he had come. She stood there for a second, stunned, before snapping from her trance and following after him.

"Eric," She quickened her pace, but it was no match against his long legged strides.

"Eric, wait!" Had she said something wrong? What could have possibly offended him?

By the time she reached the lake he had already used the gondola to cross. Bastard. She stomped into the water, not even minding that her clothing would be ruined. With him, there was no telling what had set him off. What's more, she had confessed herself to him. Usually confessions of love were met by both parties, not just one. Oh, would she be having words with him.

She found him pacing by his organ, every step a note of frustration. She exited the lake and squished her way up to him; hands at the ready, crossed over her chest.

"You know that the only way the petition could have been granted was if someone of Raoul's influence headed it. There is no way it would have been accepted if I had submitted it; I who am your student and familiar. _You know that_."

The Phantom slid by her and continued pacing out of her reach. "Yes, I understand. I want to be alone Christine. Just leave me."

"Oh _no_. You are not getting out of this so easily." She strode forward and fisted the material of his jacket at his chest. He could not avoid her now. Her head cocked back so that his fathomless eyes could meet hers. "Not only that, but it is customary that when a person reveals their feelings for another, the recipient either confirms or denies them. Maybe you misunderstood me the first time, so I will say so again. I love you Erik. Don't you care for me?"

His face was calm for a split second, taking in her words. Then it began trembling, until a maelstrom broke forth. "_Care for you?_ CARE FOR YOU?" He shoved out of her grasp, striding toward his desk and gathering the figures he had carefully carved and painted. "Look at these!" He pushed them into her face. "These, I made for you!" When she turned her head he threw them across the room and grabbed her arm. He pulled her to the wax figurine bearing her semblance. "For you!" Then the music sheets for Don Juan Triumphant, stored in a shelf. "I did this all for you, Christine. Christ, I obsessed over you. You leave me but naught a moment, so much so that even the ghost of you in my memory haunts me! And yet you dare to speak to me of love as if it were such a paltry thing, here a moment and gone the next."

Christine dared not to breathe. His grip on her arm was so tight…and his eyes. His eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. It was like trying not to look into the eye of a storm, and yet it somehow pulled her in.

"I have spent almost your entire life loving you with everything I have in me. It's not even been a week since you have parted company with that man, and yet you claim to love me."

One side of his mouth quirked up into a sneer. "Forgive me if I don't believe you, mademoiselle." He surrendered her arm and left her side, heading in the direction of his private alcove.

The shock of the Phantom's emotional lightning strike left her sealed to the place she was standing. He was mad at her for loving him? She couldn't help that her love was new, that was just how it was. Maybe he didn't want her around; he had told her to leave. She didn't need to be told twice.

…_loving you with everything I have in me._

_Loving you._

He loved her. In his own way, he had confirmed that he returned her affections. New or not, her love was just as powerful as his and she was going to prove it to him. She would be damned before she let his challenge go unmatched.

With her mind made up, she headed after the Phantom. She winced at the sight she must be with her dress slapping at her legs and her shoes squelching with each step. She only held her head higher. Appearance mattered naught if you hadn't the proper carriage to showcase it.

"Erik," She stopped at the entrance of the alcove. He was slumped at the edge of his silver swan bed, head in his hands. He looked toward her at the sound of his name.

"I had thought that you would have left by now." His head sunk back down.

She moved to stand in front of him and cradled his head in her hands, so that he was once more looking her in the eye. "Listen to me. I would never leave you. The only reason I had tried to drown myself was because I could not bear to exist in a world where you were not. It may have taken me this long to understand my feelings for you, but I swear to you that they are there and they are real."

She could read the fear in his eyes. He was afraid to dare to hope. She brought her lips to his tenderly, proving her words with her actions.

Even though he was afraid to believe her, he certainly wasn't afraid to claim her. When Christine started to pull away the Phantom clung to her. He stole away her breath and thrust his tongue into her mouth, making her knees weak with desire. He pulled her to him and turned her over so that his body trapped hers to the bed. Only then did he break away from her mouth, allowing her to gulp in air.

The things he was doing to her neck, they were driving her mad. She couldn't see but she could feel his warm breath and hot tongue. Her dress wasn't the only thing that was damp now.

"Erik!" His name was a sharp gasp. Her nipples buzzed with want of attention.

As though reading her mind, he undid the buttons at her front slowly. So achingly slowly, she thought she would die. Her hands came up to assuage her need but he knocked them away. He growled at her, delving into her clothing and nipping at her breast. She gasped at the sensation, needing to feel him everywhere. He used his tongue and teeth to graze at her pert buds, sending sparks throughout her body. Her hands were under his clothing, nails raking at his back. This earned her a pleased rumble from the opera ghost.

"You have satisfied me so much, dear Christine. Now it is your turn." His voice was a low baritone, thundering its way through her chest.

He bunched her skirts about her hips, leaving her bare legs shivering in the cold. He covered them with his torso. Her exposed chest felt the cold absence of him. The delicious warring sensations of cold and warmth left her in another world, too dazed to cover herself. And then his tongue, his searing muscle was between her legs, laving her and steaming her with his breath. Then the soft thing entered her and his callused thumb was rubbing at that spot, just the right spot. She arched her back into him and clenched her muscles. Right there, oh right there.

He reduced her to a panting, sweating mess as she came. She could feel him grunt his approval.

But he didn't stop there. He undid his trousers and was pushing, pushing, pushing into her. She cried out at the invasion, but welcomed it nonetheless. She could feel herself unravel once again. Still their bodies strove together, battling to be closer, further, complete. The Phantom was not a gentle lover. His passion consumed him, but Christine wanted it no other way. She met him in ferocity, clawing at him and pulling him towards her ever deeper. When she came for the third time, he unwound with her, surging his seed deep within. He collapsed panting onto her neck, keeping her warm with his body over hers. Never before had she felt so complete, so namelessly happy. There were no words for this.

"That…Christine…is how much I love you."

She smiled, though he could not see it and kissed his forehead. "Would you mind showing me again? I must have missed it."

She could feel his grin against her skin. "You always were such a dull child. It might take a while."

"For as long as I live, I hope." There was nowhere else that she wanted to be if it were not here beside this man.

"Forever, dear Christine. This is for forever."

_ ~fin~_


End file.
